


The Road Ahead

by Angels_Grace



Series: Square One [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Family, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, references to square one fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24966193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angels_Grace/pseuds/Angels_Grace
Summary: 'What other word could he have used? They had been ‘boyfriends’ when they were little better than children, eighteen and terrorising a quaint little northern city...'You all wanted to know what came next, and honestly, so did I.This fic is set a few years after the events of Square One but can be read on its own.Crowley and Aziraphale are settling into life in London after university and all the trials and joy of 'adulthood'.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Gabriel & Uriel (Good Omens)
Series: Square One [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806961
Comments: 14
Kudos: 24





	1. A Slip of the Tongue?

**Author's Note:**

> Like me, a lot of my readers weren't ready to let go of our boys following Square One. They wanted to see the boys grow beyond Uni, to see them settle down and start a family.
> 
> This is a less continuous story of what came next, featuring vignettes requested by readers. The words fan service have never been so apt.

The first time Aziraphale slipped up, he didn’t notice. 

He was waiting in the front of a cozy new restaurant off of Dean Street, and the murmur of London was just seeping through the glass at his back. Crowley had slipped in behind him without him noticing as he stumbled through a conversation in terrible Mandarin with the waiter who was trying to seat him. Crowley was half tempted to sneak up and wrap his arms around him from behind just to fluster him even more.

Aziraphale sighed and broke into English again. “I can’t sit yet, I’m waiting for my husband.” Finally, the waiter seemed to understand and left Aziraphale be. He grinned to himself as though he had won some heraldic battle and went to sit on the tiny red couch buy the entryway. 

“Crowley” He breathed in relief when he looked up to find him, frozen and wide-eyed, sunglasses halfway down his nose. “Whatever is wrong with you?” He asked, jumping back to his feet. Crowley’s smirk had slipped into surprise before he could stop it. 

Husband. 

Crowley snapped himself back into the present.  
“Long show, angel.” He sighed, the lie coming easily enough. It was a true one after all.   
So what was so awful about it?” Aziraphale ventured when they were seated.  
“Hm?”  
“Oh you must be tired. The show, dear.” He prompted with kind eyes.  
“Just Ratthew in the horn section, he threw everyone off in about half of the songs.”  
“I wish you wouldn’t call him that.” Aziraphale muttered as he poured the both a glass of wine. His lips were pursed in disapproval, but his eyes glittered with the hint of drama in the orchestra pit.  
“But it’s his given name, he doesn’t like Ratty or Ratt.”  
“You know fine well its Mathew.” Aziraphale said sternly and Crowley huffed. He pretended not to see the way Aziraphale’s eyes lit up when he capitulated.

Husband. Aziraphale had said husband. Crowley’s mind was stuck on it. His mind replayed the way it had slipped from Aziraphale’s lips, gentle and revered even through his frustration, it sounded comfortably warn, like a word he took out and investigated with gloved caresses. 

And fair enough, it wasn’t like they weren’t married in all but name already. They lived in a little two bed flat walking distance from Aziraphale’s mum, they were looking at adopting a cat for Christ sakes. Of course Aziraphale, sweet, romantic, silly Aziraphale had been thinking of them as married. Maybe since they’d left uni or gotten the flat. Crowley sighed. He never ate much, but tonight was one of the more obvious evenings he would rather watch Aziraphale enjoy the restaurant he had picked. All the while the word husband swilled in his brain, headier and headier with every peek at the thoughts it began.

***

After the night in the Red Dragon, it was like the damn had broken. Every chance he got, Aziraphale used the 'H' word without so much as noticing the confused looks it earned him.

What other word could he have used? They had been ‘boyfriends’ when they were little better than children, eighteen and terrorising a quaint little northern city. In Aziraphale’s poetry, they were ‘lovers’, though he would blush and deny it if Crowley ever commented that he saw himself taking shape on paper. In everything they were ‘partners’, but that often led to assumptions of a small business in the premises, rather than a shared bed. ‘Significant other’ made him think of Bee, how they liked to use language to craft the boundaries of their relationships. It was valid, but it wasn’t him. 

Everything he had was Aziraphale’s. He could demand the breath from his lungs or the beat of his heart and Crowley would find a way to give it to him with a smile. ‘Fiancé’ made something flutter in Crowley’s chest, something delicate and precious that he felt like he might break if he inspected it too closely. It felt like hope. Because wasn’t it obvious that they were going to be married one day? Wasn’t I obvious that he had thoroughly engaged himself to his angel?

Crowley often went with ‘Other half’ or, when he was feeling particularly smug and indulgent, ‘better half’ when he described Zira. That would always make whoever he was talking to swoon in second-hand affection. None of them were right, but ‘husband’ felt right in every cell of his being, every atom, like the seven letters were stitched into his DNA.

He had always wanted to marry Aziraphale, to find a way in this world that was so stacked against them to prove that he loved his angel, to have undeniable proof that Aziraphale loved him, which often baffled him for hours on end. That little possessive bit of him purred at the idea, of Aziraphale being legally his as much as he knew he was utterly and totally content to be Aziraphale’s.

If anything, he was a bit put out Zira had beaten him to the punch. 

It seemed like Aziraphale was totally ignorant of what he was saying, there was no coquettish pout that usually accompanied his dropped hints, no blush of having overstepped the mark, there was certainly no anxious secrecy that would indicate a proposal was taking form in his sweet mind. No, Crowley knew it was him who would do the proposing, and he wouldn’t have it any other way

So, when Aziraphale introduced him to his co-worker at the bookshop’s latest party as ‘my husband Crowley’ he only smiled. Because if he had anything to do with it, it would be true soon enough. He smiled over his cocktail and wound an arm around Aziraphale, content to listen to him talk the night away. In the back of his mind, a plan was forming.


	2. The Big One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fucking Matthew in the fucking string section of the stupid, poxy orchestra in the inane West End show that Crowley called his stupid fucking job.
> 
> Crowley had been awake for exactly six and a half minutes and the day was already a disaster.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was BY FAR the most requested scene after Square One, and I can't say no.

Fucking Matthew in the fucking string section of the stupid, poxy orchestra in the inane West End show that Crowley called his stupid fucking job.

Crowley had been awake for exactly six and a half minutes and the day was already a disaster.

His manager had phoned before his alarm even went off, begging him to cover the matinee performance that afternoon. All because Mathew, who was definitely earning his title as Ratthew, had gone on a bender and woken up in Dover, hungover and penniless. Any other day he would grit his teeth and go in, even pretend he was grateful. He and the brass section could hang around the bar till places were called and bitch about the bastard. Not today. This was supposed to be his perfect day.

He watched the call duration tick up to 06.30 before he said “Oh Christ, sorry mate, Zira’s just been sick. I’ve got to go.” And hung up.  
“Why on earth did you tell him that?” Aziraphale snapped, suddenly awake.  
“Because the git wanted me to go in and cover for Ratty boy.”  
“And why didn’t you? You could have got some overtime.” Aziraphale said, watching as Crowley cocooned himself totally in the duvet as he only ever did under the most acute of stresses.   
“Cause. ‘S date day.” He muttered into his den of pillows.   
  


“Oh, my love.” Aziraphale smiled, his tone barely making an effort to restrain his mirth. “We could have had our picnic next week.” He said, his hand expertly weaving into the bundle to soothe at Crowley’s hair. Like a wild thing, he half-heartedly resisted the touch before peeping his head out into the morning air for more. There was his Aziraphale, radiant, sweet, never-should-have-to-ruin-his-perfect-day-because-of-bloody-fowl-bloody-fucking-Ratthew Zira. Aziraphale kissed the frown lines gathering on his brow to smoothness.

“No.” Crowley said suddenly, as he permitted Aziraphale into his tent.  
“No, my dear?” He asked, the amusement clear on his face now. He wrapped himself around Crowley’s sharp angles in the practiced way that always soothed him, peppering kisses over his face until he felt Crowley’s cheeks twitching in a smile.   
“No, we can’t postpone. It’s forecast to be the last nice day before winter really kicks in, and you deserve a treat.”  
“there are other treats…” Zira said innocently, eyes wide and round and blue and bottomless as the sea. Crowley smirked, calculating how much of a set back he could allow. He pulled the duvet over them with a wicked grin, the alarm clock hadn’t gone off yet, after all.

***

For once, the weather report hadn’t lied. It was one of those rare, early October, days that was crisp and dry and the sun shone brightly. It reflected off he shopfronts as Aziraphale skipped between bookshops, towing an indulgent Crowley along by the hand as they passed through Soho and Piccadilly, toward their final destination.

Beneath his gentle amusement at everything Aziraphale said or did, was a panic, blind and rabid clawing through his veins, He compressed it down and smiled. He didn’t want his Zira to have the first idea what was coming. He just followed him, trying his best to loosely swing the honest-to-god wicker picnic basket casually on his arm as he walked through what felt like every bookshop in central London, even the big soulless chain ones that they usually shunned. He tried not to think of all the snacks swaying around in there, or the surprise hidden at the very centre of the bundle.

Finally, they stepped into Green Park. The sun might have been weak, but it had drawn the more optimistic of London’s residents out to bask in the unseasonable shine.   
“Oh, it’s rather full, isn’t it?” Aziraphale murmured, shifting his bag of books from hand to hand. Crowley took it from him and perched it on the basket, taking his anxious hand in his own.   
“This isn’t the final destination, love. We’re just taking the scenic route.” He assured him. He led Aziraphale across the dull green square of the park through the little shrubbed expanse of Regent’s park until they were right in front of Buckingham Palace.  
“What tourists we are.” Aziraphale mused, staring up at the palace with utter boredom.   
“I forget that this is standard fare to you southern Toffs.” Crowley teased. “Did you often attend the young Prince’s balls?” He asked in his most polished RP. Aziraphale laughed and tried to elbow him, but Crowley raised their joined hands aloft, making Aziraphale do a graceful little spin instead. He blushed the most delicate pink and Crowley had to catch himself staring at him stupidly.

“Come on, I know a nice spot.” Crowley said. He pulled him into St. James’ park. Somehow it had taken his heart as the best place in London. Despite its size and proximity to both the queen and parliament, it always seemed quiet. It was full of little nooks and bright flower beds, exotic birds and gentle ponds. He felt at peace here, he almost felt like he was back up north. He pulled the picnic blanket out and spread it gently on the ground, offering Aziraphale a hand down to the still plush grass.

He quickly dropped and shooed Aziraphale off the basket. “I’m serving you today.” He smiled, letting the full force of his adoration play on his face, the one he usually reserved for their home, where he would allow himself to be vulnerable and Zira would love him all the more for it. He accepted the gift, allowing Crowley to arrange their feast, even producing travel cups and a bottle of wine to pour for them before they settled in companionable silence.

“I’m glad you didn’t go into work.” Aziraphale admitted eventually. “This is rather lovely.”  
“Are you going to make a story of it?” He asked over his wine, careful not to drink too much.  
“Oh no, this is just for us.” He smiled, utterly content. Crowley was about to gear up to his point, this outing’s raison d’etre when Zira spoke again.   
“When was October last this warm?” He frowned, trying to pick over a memory.   
“That day in the library.” Crowley said, he didn’t need to qualify it was the library at uni.  
“Oh yes. We had a lot of those didn’t we?” he murmured, mind in another time.  
“Not many where I was trying all my best tricks to get a yes from you, and getting a no instead.”  
“No wasn’t in your vocabulary. Think of it as character building…” he grinned mischievously, popping a grape into his mouth. Crowley smiled, knowing that his question today would yield a yes, but terrified of asking it all the same.

“Did you enjoy your nerdy conference last week?” he asked lightly.  
“It was a bookselling networking event, as you well know.” He huffed. “It was a bit nerdy though, lots of authors, lots of pushy PR people. I’m more annoyed that you went to mum’s game night without me.” He pouted.  
“For once we had even teams, we make a dynamic duo, me and your mum.”  
“Maybe you should take _her_ on a picnic.” He murmured.  
“Maybe I will.” He laughed “We were outnumbered, though.”  
“Uri may be pregnant, but I doubt the twins were whispering the best strategies of connect four to her.” He laughed.

“She let me feel them kicking.” Crowley said, smiling despite himself.  
“What was it like?” He asked, the longing for that domesticity clear in his voice.  
“Like Gabe was going to rip the offending hand from my body.” He said.  
“Stop it.” He said gently.  
“I know, I know. We had a good chat though, all of us.”  
“Oh rub it in why don’t you.” He teased.  
“No, silly angel.” He smiled “We had a nice chat about you.” He watched as Zira stilled a little and he put on a light air.   
“About how I’m a bad looser?”  
“And about how I love that about you. About how you make me better and more honest, about how you are the most curious and open and gentle creature on this earth, how none of us deserve you, least of all me. We talked about how, when I lost you, even just for a moment, it was like the world had ended, how getting you back taught me what heaven was. I think Gabe was a bit off put by all the lovey dovey stuff to be honest … and I know we don’t always go in for traditions, but that conversation felt like one you would want me to have, the romantic that you are.” He peeked up at Aziraphale, seeing that he understood what was about to happen, the barely contained joy of it on his perfect face,

Crowley stretched in a forced casualness that put him over the basket. “I know it wasn’t asking permission, not really. Nothing would stop me spending my life with you, certainly not your brother. I was surprised how much it mattered to me, Gabriel’s blessing, your mother’s promises.” He said, not breaking Aziraphale’s gaze as his handle closed around the little velvet box.

  
“Crowley…” He whispered, already crying now, and Crowley felt his own tears creeping towards him. He was determined to do it properly.

Crowley as there, in their favourite place, on one knee for the world to see.

“Aziraphale … my Zira.” He breathed. “I want to spend every second of my life with you. I want to bake you cakes and read you books, I want to marry you and have kids and dogs and cats. I want to build a home with you, grow old and blind with you holding my hand, Every good thing in my life, I want to share with you, and I want to be there for you when things don’t go so well. And I want the whole bloody world to know it. I want it to be rue when you introduce me as your husband, Aziraphale. Will you marry me?” He asked, laying himself utterly bare under his angel’s gaze. In that moment he was kneeling before a deity, awaiting judgement, truly seen and truly known by something so beloved, so benevolent, that he felt his well-guarded tears slip free, and he didn’t care at all.

Aziraphale nodded, the only sound he could make a delighted, muffled sniff as his hands came up to hide his face. Crowley laughed, pulling his hand away. He let it go, watching as Crowley slipped a plain silver band onto his finger. “Didn’t know if you’d even want one, we can change it if you wan-“ but Zira was on him, al decorum lost as pulled Crowley close for a kiss. He laughed against his lips, toppling them to the blanket.

When he finally stopped crying and settled contently into Crowley’s arms, Aziraphale said a quiet “You knew I’d say yes, didn’t you?”   
“Technically you haven’ yet.” He teased.  
“Yes. I suppose I’ll marry you.” He smirked as he added in a whisper “You soppy old thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any requests???


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Get your coat." Aziraphale said firmly.  
> "Where are we going? You haven't finished your tea." Gabe bleated, diminished. Aziraphale steeled himself and drained the cup in one. Somehow, it was worse tepid than it had been hot. He wouldn’t have done it for anyone but his brother...
> 
> CW: Reference to abuse, reference to an abuser
> 
> Aziraphale goes to see his brother, the dad-to-be Gabriel, with a request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So some people wanted to know about Aziraphale and Gabriel's history, particularly that with their dad. If you've read Square One, you'll know that it was a very traumatic one. I said I would investigate everything you wanted me to, and I will, but please take the content warnings for the next few chapters at their word.

"So." Gabriel beamed. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Are you about to tell me all about how you've got cold feet?" He teased. Aziraphale rolled his eyes theatrically, falling back into their pattern of patter as soon as he crossed the threshold.   
"You seem to forget I was the one 'after the whole production' as Crowley puts it." He said. 

He slipped into the flat, shrugging out of the layers of his coat. He put it over the bannister as they went up to the second floor.

Gabriel went to the kitchen and Aziraphale settled into the squashy sofa nearest the radiator, peeking up at the bookshelf. He restrained a sigh as he spotted unread classics and a beaten copy of ‘Eat, Pray, Love.’ He started making a mental list of books he could buy them for Christmas. All his wages come from, and went back to, the little bookshop in Soho. Thank god for the 10% staff discount.

“Well what is it then, little brother?" Gabriel asked, elbowing baby toys out of the way enough so he could slot two mugs of tea onto the coffee table. Aziraphale scooped his up, leeching warmth from the sturdy cup as the November chill receded. He made the mistake of glancing down at the tea before he took a sip. It was the pallid grey that his mind linked to the mysterious Victorian consumption. He casually put it back on the table.

'They aren't even here yet and they've taken over your life" Aziraphale said, picking up an especially sweet looking bear. Partly to distract from the untouched tea, partly because the thought of Gabriel being a father soon was overwhelming to him.  
'I was prepared enough for one, but twins... Maybe I've gone a little overboard." He answered, wincing as he shifted in the armchair, pulling a strange plastic caterpillar out of the cushion folds. “I’ve been ‘quality testing’ all the toys before they get here.” He said, putting the bright hunk of plastic lovingly in a cardboard box at his side.

“Exactly, this may be my last chance to spend some with my two favourite people before they become child-rearing husks. " Aziraphale grinned.  
"You'll have a hard job, Uri is up in Sheffield." Gabe said. As he said it, he had the air of a man unmoored, lost without his captain.

"On her own?" Aziraphale frowned. Gabriel shook his head.   
“In her condition? No way. Her dad took her back up with him a few days ago. Nominally, he was in the city for business.”  
“And in reality?” Aziraphale asked, knowing his brother too well. Gabriel smiled.  
“To put the fear of God into me. I think he still half expects me to run off with a woman from work and leave her. He keeps talking about the ‘exceptional young men’ he meets like he’s trying to lure Uri back to his intended path.”  
“I’ve never seen anyone more in love than the pair of you. You’re a perfect family. When are they due?” He asked, despite the fact he knew exactly when his little nieces or nephews would arrive.  
“The week before Christmas.” Gabe said, taking a deep draught of his tea.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while before Gabe asked after Crowley and Aziraphale said he was very well thank-you and had Gabe spoken to mum since he picked her up from the airport last week? Only once, he’d replied.

"Why are you really here, Azi?" Gabriel asked at last. Aziraphale smiled, there really were no secrets between them these days.  
"There's something I'd like to do, before I'm married. I just don't think I can do it alone." He said carefully.  
"Look. You picked Anathema as your best woman. If you want a stripper, you take it up with her." Gabriel shrugged. Aziraphale blushed crimson, mortified.   
"GABRIEL!" He spluttered helplessly on his tea while his brother guffawed.

"Notions like that are exactly the reason I didn’t ask you, as you well know." he murmured civilly once he'd composed himself. Gabriel was still chuckling at his prudish little brother. "Crowley is more than keen enough to take that job himself." Aziraphale added, mostly to stop his brother laughing, even if his cheeks did feel radioactive with heat. Gabriel choked on a custard cream and Aziraphale took the opportunity to get them back on track.

"As I was saying. I need your help to do something. Or I need to know you’re okay with it... or maybe both." He dithered.  
"Oh spit it out." Gabe said horsely.  
Aziraphale fidgeted his cup for a moment before he worked up the nerve to say it out loud for the first time.   
"I want to see dad." He forced it out in a mumbled rush, but he knew his brother had understood when he saw the colour pale in his cheeks, the warmth dying in his eyes.

“Absolutely not.” Gabriel said firmly, for once oblivious to Aziraphale’s disappointment. He had expected it, after all.  
“Don’t you even want to know why?” Aziraphale asked quietly.  
“Not particularly, no.” He said, his tone icy and clipped. He hadn’t heard his brother like this in years, since they had so dramatically fallen out at Uni. The old resentment stirred in Aziraphale, so out of his character. He raised his chin churlishly.  
“I only came to tell you. I don’t need your permission. I’ll go alone if I have to.” He said, stubbornly throwing the challenge out to his older brother.

"Does Crowley know you’re here?” Gabe asked, forcing him to change track.  
“I'm perfectly allowed to visit my brother." Aziraphale rolled his eyes. He took another sip to busy himself and regretted it quickly.   
“Crowley and I get along best when either of us stop you doing something stupid for the sake of your pride. If I let you do this and you get hurt, even if you get upset, he’ll never speak to me again. No more game night at mum’s, no more of your fun little dinner parties, or day trips. It’ll be like it was.”

“You can’t know that.”  
“Yes I can, Aziraphale.” He said firmly. “It’s about the only conversation we ever have without you.”  
“Well I‘ll just have to avoid getting oversensitive, won’t I?” He said, getting stubbornly to his feet. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to know that it was because of him you made me go alone.” It as a low blow, and he knew it. All Gabe had ever wanted to do was to be there for him, to protect him like a good big brother should.

“It’s a bad idea, Azi." Gabriel said sadly. "I mean what are you going to do? Invite him to the wedding?"  
"Good Lord, no. I wouldn't do that to mum. I just ... I want to see him. I need to know that he's just..." he sighed in frustration as he tried to rationalise it, even to himself. 

It had started as a bad dream a few nights after the proposal, it had lingered in his mind, growing ever bigger, to the point where it conflated with every thought about his wedding, the shadow in the doorway as he said ‘I do’, stalking among the guests at the reception, the sound of broken glass as they toasted. He had lost count of how many times he had awoken, heaving for breath if he was lucky, screaming if he was not. Either way, his side burned beneath his scar, he expected his hands to come away bloody. And always Crowley, wide eyed and gentle voiced, coaxing him away from that night to this. It had to stop, but he couldn’t tell sturdy, dependable Gabriel any of that.

"That he’s not what?" Gabe prompted; eyes less severe now.  
"Just a man! Not a monster or a nightmare, not a prophesy of what type of man I’ll be ... what type of a husband or-"  
"Or father." Gabriel croaked, finishing his thought in a way that made Azi think he wasn’t alone in steeping in it these past few weeks. He realised that Gabe looked tired too.

The silence hung heavy between them for a moment. 

"I should be thrilled. I've always wanted a family like this, beautiful wife, babies on the way ... in-laws who tolerate me. I've always had mum and you and ... yes, Crowley has been a part of that image for a long time too, despite all of that." Aziraphale understood the broad gesture to mean the history behind them. He nodded thoughtfully. 

"I took after dad, in more ways than one, and I’ve worked through that. I can handle myself now, but I thought I could then too. I bet he thought he could too, when he hurt you, then I hurt you. History repeating itself" He muttered. Aziraphale resisted the urge to roll his shoulder, touch his side, the places where the phantom aches reminded him that he had been hurt by some of the people he trusted the most. "They're going to be so small, Azi, so perfect. I can't fuck them up like he did."

"Get your coat." Aziraphale said firmly.  
"Where are we going? You haven't finished your tea." Gabe bleated, diminished. Aziraphale steeled himself and drained the cup in one. Somehow, it was worse tepid than it had been hot. He wouldn’t have done it for anyone but his brother.   
"Coat. Now." He croaked.

“Crowley won't like it."  
"Crowley’s not here. Besides, I need to do this, for me. And you need to do it for them." He said, nodding to the little sonogram images propped up on the mantle. Gabriel's jaw worked soundlessly around an argument for a moment, but nothing came to him. So, he just slid his phone in his pocket and snatched up his keys.  
“Where to?” He asked expressionlessly.


	4. Dear Old Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale felt like he was on another planet, watching this stranger on a tiny TV screen, the signal reaching him millions of years too late. He was a stranger, a stranger that smiled and and shook hands with some of the congregation, and did it all hidden under his father's skin...
> 
> CW ABUSE/ SEEING AN ABUSER/PANIC ATTACKS
> 
> A chapter responding to a request to investigate the mentions of abuse throughout square one. This was vvvvv uncomfortable to write but Azi needs that growth. 
> 
> REFERENCES TO fireworks chapter of Square One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW ABUSE, SEEING AN ABUSER, PANIC ATTACKS

The cross on the door was proving to be more of an obstacle than Aziraphale had anticipated. 

"The fucking hypocrite." Gabriel muttered, trying to lean casually against a lamppost as Aziraphale stood beside him, prim and proper. They were on a drab, indistinct road in the depths of Whitechapel. Gabriel was staring at a church across the road, and particularly the crucafix rusting on its exterior, with venom.

It was a utilitarian affair, the church. It was a squat little rectangle of concrete sandwiched between a dubious chicken shop and an even more dubious kebab shop. 

"I was rather surprisedhe took up with the church after all that." Aziraphale agreed. It had taken almost a year to track his father down between his bouts of indecision and the need to hastily close the private google searches when Crowley got home from work. He had never intended to come here once he found it, not really, but things had gotten worse.

"All that..." Gabriel echoed, watching the grey people ducking into the church to shelter from the greyer sleet. "The way you talk Azi, it's like it was nothing. They had to stitch you up. I thought... I thought we were going to loose you." he said, finally tearing his eyes away to look down at his little brother. 

"I was lucky." he murmured, running his fingers down his jumper, over the jagged run of the scar hidden there.

“I don’t think we were lucky at all” he muttered. Aziraphale said nothing to that.

"You really want to do this?" Gabe asked, standing up properly. 

"I need to. I wish I didn't, but if I can just see him, just for a second, I'll be satisfied." 

"No point standing out in the rain then." Gabe said, stepping forward to do the hardest part, to pass beneath the crucafix, to step back in time. Aziraphale knew what it cost him. He was infinitely grateful he didn't have to cross the threshold first. 

He ducked his head as he followed him, the stuffy smell of soggy industrial carpeting undercut by the distant discord of wood polish wrapped around him like pure nostalgia. It was his childhood in a perfume. He swallowed thickly. 

"Well." Aziraphale croaked after a monent "no spinning heads." 

"No speaking in tongues." Gabriel agreed. 

"I guess we're still allowed on consecrated ground." 

"Then there's nowhere for the bastard to hide." Gabe said, a little too loud for the lull in shaking umbrellas sound them. He didn't blush at the glares it earned him. He was in what Crowley affectionately termed 'City Wanker Gabriel Mode'. It was a harsh exterior he had developed since he had started working in the sleek offices of London, it was a rebuff, empty corporate politeness with a smile like a knife. Aziraphale hated seeing it, but he understood, they all had their armour, Gabriel's was his cold charm. Azi rooted around his mind for his own armour of righteousness. He found only the feel of Crowleys fingers tracing his face, eyes like amber. He let out a tense breath. 

The pews were solid, wooden slabs of discomfort. The two brothers stole into the body of the church and sank onto it without being spotted. Aziraphale relaxed a little as a few more trickled in for the afternoon service. He didn't need them for camouflage, the weak lack of light from the thin, prison like windows did plenty to hide them. He wondered if he'd recognise his father easily, if he would recognise either of them. 

They hadn't seen their father since that night his threats had sharpened into action. Somewhere a shrill bell sounded. Aziraphale started violently, twisting around in his seat. 

He was back there. He was little better than a child, fourteen and churning with guilt at all the things he wasn't. His father was at the window, staring out at the darkening evening. He raised a bottle to his lips, taking a deep slow drag before it sauntered back down to his side. This kind of drinking stilled the blood in Aziraphale's veins. A quick drink meant he had better things to do, a distraction. A slow drink meant he was thinking. That was normally when Azi went to find his brother, or his mum. 

Mum wasn't home. Maybe that's why his dad was watching the street, waiting to see her get off the bus and run, keys fumbling, waiting for her excuse, waiting for any excuse. Aziraphale didn't want to give him one. He hoped she never came back, if that's what it took to keep her safe. The other part of him, the truer, weaker part fixated on the clock, counting down from 10 over and over, praying the lock would click on zero, that she'd pull him into her soft arms and hum to him. 

He could remember Gabe's footsteps in the doorway, how they hesitated at the sight of the two of them, silent and watchful. Then there was pain, the crashing of glass like the knell of a church bell. At first the pain in his head was so bad that he thought that was why he was waking up in hospital, but then he tried to take a breath and screamed instead. 

"Azi? Azi, do we need to go?" the voice was grown up Gabriel's, but it came from his 16 year old face, eyes wide and haunted, arm in a cast. That wasn't right. He blinked quickly. 

He was in a church, just a church in Whitechapel, he was 24, Gabriel was 26. It had been a decade since that night. Gabriel was looking at him, stricken. 

"No." he muttered. "it's fine, it happens sometimes." Aziraphale said, blinking quickly, trying to pick out the details of the threadbare prayer cushions at his feet to centre himself. 

"Sometimes?" 

"Just a nightmare." he said, realising his fingers were pressing into the scar through the thick wool.

He sank into his defences. Crowley always nursed him from the nightmares, long gentle fingers tracing the mark, wiping away tears, lips pressed, burning and soft to the deadened slash, the delicate nerves around it. He would make such sweet promises, muffled against the skin of Aziraphales side. Gradually he would believe them. 

The memory drowned the spectre of his father out enough for him to master himself. He wished bitterly that he had brought Crowley, that he could have convinced him this was a good idea. He would rail once he found out. There was nothing worse than Crowleys anger. Even steeped in it he was delicate, even furious he adored Aziraphale. He said a quiet prayer that he would forgive him this trip. 

Gabriel relaxed a little as the colour returned to his little brothers cheeks. He had only seen one panic attack on him before, on a night best forgotten. Whatever just happened had been close enough. 

His hand gripped Aziraphale's wrist. As one, the brothers saw their father. 

Aziraphale felt like he was on another planet, watching this stranger on a tiny TV screen, the signal reaching him millions of years too late. He was a stranger, a stranger that smiled and and shook hands with some of the congregation, and did it all hidden under his father's skin. He had aged terribly, his history was written in every line of his face. Aziraphale new a little from his research. Substance abuse, a little stint a prison where he refound God, a kindhearted chaplain who put in a good word and hey presto, he's reading the sermons like he never hospitalised his children or beat his wife. 

He was diminished, but he was holy. He was a sinner remade, redeemed, reborn, repentant. He was forgiven. The familiar sweet rot of religion filled Aziraphales mouth. He would choke on the performative hypocrisy of it all if he wasn't careful. 

The service began, and they rose as one. 

"That's enough, you've seen him now, let it be enough?" Gabriel whispered as the hymn began its maudlin wailing. Aziraphale tore his eyes from his father, forcing himself to focus on his brother. 

"Yeah... Yeah okay" he murmured, wondering if it had been enough. He felt nothing. It couldn't have been for nothing. 

When he glanced back at his father, their eyes met, and Aziraphale could have sworn every window on the street shattered as one. 

"Shit." Gabe hissed, grabbing Aziraphale by the shoulders and pushing him along the pew to the aisle, back out to the lobby. 

"This was stupid. I should have listened to you." Azi sighed, scrubbing his face roughly. 

"No. I'm glad we came here. He's just a man, just a stupid awful piece of shit, he's not a dad, not a god, just a sad little liar at the arse end of the world. You are a million times the man he will ever be. Your wedding is going to be free of him, his shadow, and so are my babies. " He said firmly, squeezing his shoulders as he stared into his eyes. Aziraphale caved into him, hugging his brother fiercely, like he hadn't done in years. Just like when he was a teenager, he let Gabriel be his rock. He wished he could be strong enough to return the favour. If a few tears appeared on Gabriel's fine coat, he didn't mention it. 

"You're going to be such a good dad." Azi smiled weakly. 

"Damn right, I think you need a drink." he grinned. 

"A dad?" a gravelly voice asked behind him. His face might have aged in the decade that had passed, but up close his voice was the same as it ever had been. 

A dark look passed over Gabe's face as he looked back towards the church proper. 

"but you're only a boy yourself Gabriel." he said, voice growing louder. Aziraphale went still under Gabriel's hands, that telltale reaction, the lying low in the eye of the hurricane. "and little Aziraphale, a groom to be. The world does spin on." he spoke into the silence, making a trite sermon of their lives. Aziraphale resented it, hearing their impossible, golden futures on his tongue, futures that didn't feature him. He was tainting them. 

Aziraphale's name sounded wrong on his tongue too, a rough, calloused thing, not the oak of Gabriel's 'Azi', the lilt of his mother's 'Aziiiirapalle' and certainly not the silk of Crowleys 'Zira'. It annoyed him enough to turn and face him. He had no right to that name. Not now. Not for a decade. 

"Look at you both, such strapping men." he said into the dead air, his eyes really on Gabriel. "My boys, adults."

"We aren't yours." Aziraphale snapped, surprising himself. The spell broke, his sharp eyes flicked to Aziraphale, always the afterthought. 

"You outgrew me, it seems." he conceded, smile hollow. 

"We survived you." Gabriel said. 

"Then why are you in my church? Surely not even the Lord could contrive to have both my boys looking for a church and a coincidentally finding mine. 

"Your God never could, but Aziraphale's force of will works miracles. " Gabriel snorted. 

"We aren't here for you or your god." Azi said. 

"For yourselves?" he smiled, condescension thick. 

"We have people to take care of now, people who are depending on us. I need to be able to sleep without seeing your face, without remembering..." he glanced away. 

"Oh yes, the bride to be. I can't deny that I'm surprised." Aziraphale felt the confusion on his face.

" Gabriel said you were engaged... "

A laugh burst from Aziraphale, despite it all. He felt Gabriel bristle behind him. 

"You don't have to Azi, we can just go." he hissed. 

"I am engaged." he said ignoring his brother. 

" What's her name? "his father asked. 

" Crowley. " he smiled, unable to help himself, savouring the moment he'd see understanding Dawn in his father's narrow little mind. 

"Odd name, black is she? " he said with venom enough to melt the concrete walls. Aziraphales heart stopped at the unabashed bigotry of it. 

"That's my wife, actually." Gabriel said, a righteous fury in his voice. "and our children, when they get here." a silence stretched between them. 

"i never thought it would be you to disappoint me so Gabriel." his father sneered. Aziraphale wondered if Gabe's perfect composure would crack. 

"I've got him beat." Aziraphale said, trying to take the brunt of it. 

"I doubt it." 

"you see... Crowley will be my name, after the ceremony, non-denominational of course. I wouldn't have your name a moment longer. I'll take my husband Anthony's name. Very traditional." he smiled sweetly. His shit eating grin must have been contagious. Gabriel laughed beside him. 

His father, the demon that haunted him in every instant, that pulled his shaddowed cape around every golden memory for a decade, was undone. It had only taken the truth. It had only taken them being their selves, in love with the people they loved, and the dragon was vanquished, his racist and homophobic hide stretched on the consecrated ground. 

"You will leave, and you will not come back here. I have no sons. "

"That makes sense. We never had a dad. " Aziraphale said. "my beautiful nephew and neices will have one grandpa and when Crowley and I start a family they'll have none, but they'll have us, and Gabe and Uri and mum, and they'll be all the better for it." 

"You know what, my children deserve so much more than you and your sad, narrow little life. Suddenly I'm not so worried at all. If you ever come near my family-" Gabriel seethed.

"Making threats? Hardly holier than thou." 

"No, the lying and tormenting vulnerable people is your forte. I was just going to say I'd call the police. I'm sure you could spend a little time at her majesties pleasure. Come on Azi, Crowley will be wondering where you've got to."

Aziraphale shot one look back at the sad broken little man, sheared from his legacy, set adrift and he hissed. "I could forgive you. I don't think I will." he followed his brother out into the blizzard that was whipping the east end into submission. He sailed on that breeze, the little bastard he kept tucked in his mind grinned. Aziraphale grinned back


End file.
